Through Bessy's Eyes
by tracyh
Summary: Bessy Higgins may be gone, but love and friendship never dies, especially when the happiness of a friend depends on it


**Through Bessy's Eyes**

**A/N I really should not have written this because I have another story to finish from another fandom, but it came into my head and that was it. I'm not even quite sure what it is, but it was fun to write. When I have completed the other story I am working on, I might have another North and South story, if this one goes down well. I hope I have made it clear that 'she' in the story is Bessy, at least most of the time.**

She knew what had drawn her to the church on this day, one of those rare days when though Milton's skies could not rightly be described as cloudless, they somehow lacked the forbidding pencil grey shadows that usually lingered over the city, perpetually throwing storms on the bustling, toiling masses below. On this day, which seemed strangely quiet and serene, puffs of white that reminded her starkly of the cotton so many workers in the city strived to create, the same cotton that had entered her lungs and led to the wheezing, hacking cough that had marred her brief existence, floated across the heavens, only interrupted by the occasional appearance of a short spell of weak, watery sunlight that seemed reluctant, almost shy, in its efforts to cast its light and a meagre bit of warmth, over the unusually peaceful scene below. She was suddenly reminded powerfully of her beloved younger sister, whose own shyness had clung to her for years, until her elder sister's weakening health and then total failure had pushed her to come into her own. The thought sent a rush of affection and pride through a heart the elder sister knew would beat no more, had not beaten for many months.

She lingered in the shadows of the churchyard, knowing why she was there and quite unable to leave. She had always known this day would come; she remembered teasing Margaret about her and the Master at the big house. Margaret had protested, of course. She didn't like the Master, she insisted in that haughty way only the regal Miss Hale could, but still, she had known.

She knew it would not do to be seen. She had, of course, been back a few times now, finding herself unable, or even unwilling if the truth be known, to abandon her loved ones to their grief in those early months. She had watched as her father was forced to step in to care for the children of a man he despised, a man whose hopelessness had driven him to end his own existence. She watched her sister become helpmate to her father and replacement mother to the fatherless waifs whose own mother was gone within days of her husband.

She had not kept to the small place she had called home in the times when the need to see and feel those dearest to her grew too strong. She had followed her father to work. Though she still marvelled at how her father, a union man to his finger-ends, had come to work at Marlborough Mills for a man such as Thornton, a man known to be the toughest Master in the city, it gladdened her to see the change that slowly began to appear in the two men. Deep resentment and suspicion slowly became grudging admiration and a growing understanding, which soon developed into respect and, though she could not call it kinship exactly, there was a certain warmth. This new development had so taken her by surprise, it had made her forget herself.

Whilst watching from a safe distance as her father worked one day, his work-hardened hands carrying out their task quickly and nimbly, the Master appeared at his side. She watched the two men exchange a few words and then, as he prepared to walk away, his back to her, Thornton patted her father on the back. Had she been capable of breathing, her breath would have caught in her lungs at the familiar gesture. As it was, she was so thunderstruck, she stepped forward, her mouth agape to ask her father what the Master was about. As she did so, Thornton suddenly turned on his heel and for one unearthly moment the clatter and clamour of the mill disappeared as he seemed to look her straight in the eye.

In life she would have bowed her head in the face of such a penetrating expression on the Master's face, or she would have gifted him with an equally firm look back before hurrying away to her own work as quickly as possible, lest he sack her for slacking. Now she looked back, stared into those deep blue eyes and studied the lines of his brow as it formed a heavy frown of something akin to bewilderment. She watched the question take shape in his gaze when he seemed to puzzle over something while his skin turned ashen and his breath caught in his throat.

"Master, you well?" Her father's worried voice cut through the silence and the familiar hubbub of the mill came rushing back. The Master blinked and seemed to recover himself, his colour returning. She could see him forcing his senses back under regulation as he almost shook himself.

"I'm quite well, thank you Higgins," Thornton replied, but she heard the vague tremor in his voice, saw him blink as if he could not believe the evidence of his own eyes, and watched him shaking his head as he walked away, as if he was trying to clear his tumbling thoughts.

Had he seen her? She had thought the Master too down to earth, too plain speaking in his manner, too busy in the here and now, to give much thought for things he could not fathom in his own mind, spectre's, visions and such like, though so many people used the idea of such things for comfort in these times when so many lives were cruelly cut short, but that look in his eyes… She resigned herself to thinking he would convince himself his thoughts of a certain friend of hers, for she knew what was in his heart as well as he did, and his growing bond with her father, had conjured her image in his mind somehow, but she knew, deep down, it would not quite do.

She watched Mary in the new mill kitchen as she prepared food for the mill workers. She marvelled at the way her sister, who had always been so shy, the last to push herself forward in any situation, ruled over her small domain with gentleness and humility. Though the workers bantered with each other and threw colourful remarks around, none of them teased Mary or ever said a word out of place within her hearing. She could not tell if the workers respect was due to them knowing who Mary's father was, or if they knew she was shy and so they left her alone, but her sister's contentment with her new place in the world was clear to see. Somehow that was enough.

Leaving the mill, she had watched over Margaret like a mother hen with a chick after Mr Hale died. She followed her friend to London, lingered by her side in the magnificent Harley Street home belonging to her aunt. She felt Margaret's grief for her father and the loss she felt for … For someone else. She railed inside when she saw the hopelessness in Margaret's eyes, when she heard the tears in the night that were not all for the beloved parents she had lost, knowing the situation was not as hopeless as her friend thought, if she could just find the courage to be brave enough to stop denying her heart what it most craved. She willed her friend to see what was so plain to her now, that someone else wished for the same things Margaret longed for, but instead of weeping into his pillow, he was spending his nights either buried in a tomb of his own making in his office at the mill, or pacing the floor in his room when sleep would not come. Just as Margaret spent her days dismissing the concerns of those around her for the tiredness in her eyes, he would force a weak smile to his lips when his mother questioned the fatigue that seemed to cling to him, insisting that his concerns for the future of the mill was his only malady. She sensed both mother and son knew he was not being fully truthful.

Her moment came when two things happened. First, Margaret found out that she was to inherit her Godfather's money and property, including Marlborough Mills. Almost overnight the poor former parson's daughter became a very wealthy woman. Then, with a look of something in his eyes that she could not find words for, but did not like one bit, that Lennox fellow told Margaret that Thornton's business had failed. She had not quite trusted the fancy London lawyer who thought himself in love with Margaret, but she knew he would serve a purpose. Unable to resist, she pushed him into agreeing to escort Margaret back to Milton to settle some of her business affairs, though she knew he was only helping because he thought it would earn him Margaret's favour. We'll see about that, she thought indignantly, knowing the London dandy was not the man her friend needed.

She thought for one terrible moment her plan had gone wrong when Thornton chose that one day to be absent from the mill. She wanted to find him, to drag him back to Milton by his hair and throw him at Margaret's feet, but though she knew she could, she also knew she would not. She reminded herself that they had to come to their own understanding, even if they were both too stubborn for their own good. Still, Margaret's melancholy walk through the empty space that had once been a bustling hive of industry brought about all sorts of recollections. She saw the thoughts in Margaret's mind, the clanking, noisy mill she had first entered so long ago and her first sight of the Master as he watched over the workers, his eyes intent, taking in every detail as he stood, tall and strong, the very image of a man who ruled over all before him.

It hadn't quite been her plan for Margaret to come across Mrs Thornton on her visit to the mill. She heard the elder woman's sharp tones, saw the way she lifted her chin proudly even in the face of her precious son's failure, but she also heard the dread in her voice when she spoke of his absence and saw the fear she tried to hide in her eyes when she said she did not know where he was, but the pride in the woman's voice when she avowed that he would see her right was unshakeable, just as it always had been. Deep down she wondered what Thornton would have to do to fail in his mother's eyes. She abandoned the thought almost as soon as it went through her mind. Whatever happened, whatever he did, Mrs Thornton would love her son fiercely, would defend his actions against any who doubted until the end of her days, because he was part of her. In him she had created the man her husband had failed to be and he had devoted himself to the task set before him unceasingly, until a haughty southern lass had turned his world upside down. How Mrs Thornton would feel when her son loosened the ties that had bound them together for so long she could not tell, but she knew it would happen. His heart belonged to another now and it would not be denied, however long it took.

Seeing no choice but to allow Margaret to return to London for the moment, she wanted to kick Lennox when he offered to return to Milton alone with her business proposal. She almost cheered when Margaret's independent nature rose up and insisted that she would perhaps write to Mr Thornton and arrange a convenient time to meet with him before she would return to Milton herself. A wave of pity touched her when she took in Lennox's crestfallen features when he realised his victory could still be denied him, but she pushed it away, reminding herself firmly that he was not the man for her dear friend.

Something inside her bubbled in hope when the southbound train stopped halfway between the north and the south. Lennox had been hiding behind a newspaper for most of the journey so far, barely responding to anything Margaret said, not that she said very much. She had seemed lost in thought since they left Milton and sat in silence, barely taking notice of her surroundings.

When Lennox abandoned his paper just long enough to apologise for the delay, Margaret stood and opened the carriage door, stepping down carefully to the platform below. The next moment her eye was drawn to the northbound line and something seemed to spark inside her for the first time in many months.

She watched as Margaret began to walk towards the northbound train, her eyes resting on the tall, dark-haired man who was alighting from within, his gaze transfixed, a hint of a smile curving his lips and sparkling in his eyes.

She knew she should give them a moment, but she could not leave them alone entirely. She knew somehow that the course of their lives depended on this moment. She could not allow the chance that had presented itself to be thrown away, for both of their sakes.

She distantly heard their exchanged explanations for their presence at the same station. All the time Thornton's eyes barely left Margaret's face, his tender expression speaking aloud the feelings he had tried and failed to abandon. She heard Margaret's stammered admission that she had been to Milton and watched as Thornton drew a single rose from his waistcoat by way of an explanation of where he had been, handing it to Margaret as willingly as if it was the heart he so longed to submit to her safe-keeping. Taking the rose, Margaret's eyes filled with wonder and she held it tenderly between delicate fingers, as if he'd handed her the most precious jewel in the kingdom.

His voice low and more gentle than his former worker had ever heard it, Thornton asked why Margaret had been to Milton. Stammering once more, Margaret recalled her business proposition. She turned for a moment, saying she needed Henry to help her explain. Margaret's breath seemed to catch when Thornton gently clasped her arm and said she did not need Henry to explain. His eyes burned into Margaret's and it was clear he was quietly pleading with her to talk to him, to trust him.

She watched as Thornton guided Margaret towards a bench on the platform. Waiting for her to sit, he took his place beside her, one arm drifting across the back of the bench entirely of its own volition when Margaret anxiously turned towards him and began to speak.

It was clear to any onlooker that Thornton's fate was sealed from the moment he sat down. His gaze was locked on Margaret's wide eyes and full lips. He seemed to be studying every detail of her face, every word she uttered, as if everything she said and did was fascinating to him. He only moved when Margaret tried to assure him it was only a business matter, he would not be obliged to her in any way. He said nothing, but gently reached across and took Margaret's hand. Her tongue faltered and in the next moment she was gently caressing the long fingers of his hand, before something seemed to spill out from deep inside her and she raised his knuckles to her lips, her eyes swimming with remorse and a thousand other feelings there were no words to express.

She almost wanted to look away when Thornton's other hand moved to Margaret's cheek and he edged closer, but she could not. She watched intently, her attention fixed on the space between them as it began to close when Margaret drew nearer in response to his gentle touch. A moment later their lips touched, softly, delicately, the merest whisper of a kiss was exchanged, and it was exchanged, for Margaret kissed him in return, her touch unsure and sweetly innocent, but there all the same and wanting more. As if he sensed her need, he returned to her, deepening his kiss and taking her face between both of his calloused hands to hold her to him while he drank from her like a man who had been thirsting in the desert of his own loneliness for too long.

The spell only broke when there was an announcement that the London train was about to depart. She knew Margaret's mind was made up from the moment Thornton's lips had first touched her, but, it seemed, he did not. He turned away when Margaret rose and moved quickly towards the southbound train, his despair clear when he thought he had lost her again. Facing the window of the northbound train, it took him a moment to see her when she returned, her reflection appearing before him. He turned swiftly, his eyes alight with joy and disbelief and had to ask if she was coming home with him. Margaret, naturally, made no reply. She merely handed him her carpet bag and stepped into the train, leaving him to follow in her wake.

She left them alone for a while. She knew there were words to be said, explanations and apologies to be made, feelings to be expressed and a question that had once been asked in the wrong way and at the wrong time, to be asked once more, but as she left it was clear that even the words could wait, for Thornton was once again kissing the woman he loved.

Now, in the churchyard on a day when even the heavens seemed to resound with hope and joy, she knew there was only a few more moments to wait. Her eyes lingered on the huge oaken doors to the church, waiting for them to swing open. It did not take long. One more minute went by and then the heavy doors creaked and were opened by two men in dark suits who bowed their heads and pretended to be invisible when the young couple emerged, their countenances bright with joy, arm in arm.

In a moment of uncharacteristic giddiness, John Thornton, clad in a dark blue jacket and matching cravat that set off the colour of his sparkling eyes, spun his bride around in joyous circles as soon as the two men who had opened the church doors had retreated discreetly out of sight.

"John!" Margaret attempted to chide him, but the light in her eyes gave her away and she leaned into his firm embrace, relishing the thought that they now belonged to each other. "Everyone will be coming out to join us in a moment, we'll be seen!"

"I don't care," Thornton said with characteristic decisiveness, his eyes bright with glee, "not today." He grinned broadly and went on. "Let them see how happy you have made me this day. Let them see that my bride is the most remarkable woman, the most beautiful, in all of Milton." Then his face straightened and he was serious, his voice soft and low. "Let them see that I'm the luckiest man alive Mrs Thornton, and that I will love you always, as long as I draw breath."

"Oh, John." Margaret tightened her arms around him and buried her face against his jacket as the depth of his love struck her anew. "I love you, John Thornton. I will always love you." She lifted her face again when he pulled her closer. Looking into her eyes, he lowered his lips and kissed her, finally allowing himself to show her all the feelings he had kept inside for so long.

The newlyweds broke apart when the church doors creaked open once more, but only enough to greet their guests. They remained arm in arm, as if they had no wish to be parted, even for a moment. The senior Mrs Thornton, dressed not in her usual black but an elegant shade of green, emerged first. She embraced her son in a way she had not for many a year and gifted him with a tender smile that transformed her features and made her look years younger, before turning to Margaret and kissing her on the cheek with surprising warmth, at least in the eyes of the distant onlooker. The widow seemed almost happy on this day and seemed glad to share in the joy of the new couple.

Mrs Thornton was followed out of the church by Fanny Watson on the arm of her husband. Mrs Watson was the only one who did not seem to be enjoying the proceedings. It was clear that she was sneering at Margaret's simple wedding gown and the delicate flowers in her hair. She kissed her brother stiffly and only briefly acknowledged Margaret before distancing herself when Nicholas Higgins emerged with Mary on his arm. The way Mrs Watson paled and held her handkerchief delicately to her upturned nose was clear to the entire gathering.

How proud she was to see her father and sister at such a gathering. Her father's face was bright with glee and he stepped forward to kiss the bride quickly on the cheek and shake the hand of the Master. She smiled when Nicholas turned to Thornton and gifted him with a fatherly expression she knew all too well. "Now I know you're the Master again, Thornton," the older man's face was perfectly straight as he spoke. "But if you don't look after Miss Margaret, you'll have me to answer to. Are we clear?"

Margaret seemed to be stifling a gentle smile during Nicholas's speech, noting the way he referred to her as he always had, instead of using her new name, but Thornton nodded solemnly. "We're quite clear Higgins," he said with the utmost respect in his tones. "You have my word." He gifted his bride with a tender smile. "I would do anything to make my wife happy, you may count on it."

Higgins nodded deeply and then his face cracked into a warm grin. "That's all right then, as long as we understand where we are. I hope you'll both be very 'appy, you deserve it."

When her father stood back a little, Mary Higgins stepped forward shyly and took Margaret's hand. "You look so beautiful, Miss, and so very 'appy. I wish our Bessy was 'ere to see."

Margaret looked around at the gathered company of friends and her new family. Then, with bright eyes, she looked beyond, into the shadows of the churchyard and smiled softly. "Perhaps she is, Mary," she replied in a whisper to the young woman beside her. "Perhaps she is."

The heart that would beat no more seemed to fill in response to Margaret Thornton's words. Overflowing with happiness for the friend who had meant so much to her in life, she blessed her for everything she had been and everything she would remain, and then she slipped softly away.


End file.
